


The Illusion of Imperfection

by heckhansol



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, University AU, soft smut and hard smut and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckhansol/pseuds/heckhansol
Summary: Junhui is a physics student at his university. He’s never known why the physics building is right next to the art building, but he does know that it’s about time he talked to the gorgeous student who’s always on the other side of the window.





	The Illusion of Imperfection

**Author's Note:**

> For Lucy, who helped me come up with this and who loved it even when I didn't.

“But we observe the motion as acceleration because space-time by its nature is curved. And we’ll be moving more into general relativity tomorrow.”

            Junhui writes _curved_ in his notebook before clicking his pen closed and dropping everything in his backpack. He zips it closed quickly, and makes his way out of the lecture hall.

            Class let out a few minutes late today. He walks faster than usual around the corners of the hallway, out the doors, and down the stone steps of the building and out onto campus. He wishes there weren’t so many people around him so he could go faster. Not that he thinks he won’t be there when he walks by today. Still, he’s not taking any chances.

            Luckily, most of the student crowd goes right when they reach the art building to start going toward the center of campus. It’s quieter and there are much fewer people when Junhui finally slows down as he passes the same big windows of the same room that he passes every single day.

            He takes a deep breath and tries to keep his stare inconspicuous.

            He’s there—he’s always there. The art student that Junhui sees every day is sitting alone in the room, half hidden by an easel, dipping a brush into a mess of paints on a stool next to him. While Junhui watches, walking way too slowly and probably earning his own stares from other students, the art student adjusts his glasses and runs his fingers through his styled messy hair. It falls back in the softest looking white strands around his forehead.

            Junhui swallows hard. He knows he really should just have the courage to go in and talk to him. How long has he been doing this? How many days has he walked by and seen him sitting there in that exact same place, always working on his painting? If Junhui doesn’t hurry up and try, he thinks the painting will be done and the student will one day just not be there, and Junhui will never see him again.

            Junhui blinks over at him, taking one final look through the window, and tells himself that he _will_ go talk to the student.

            Tomorrow.

 

…

 

Junhui made it through the first door easily enough—the one leading into the art building itself. But now that he’s standing behind the one that leads into that almost empty room, now that he can see through the little window part of the student’s back and a piece of his painting, he finds himself pretty well frozen. But he swore to himself yesterday that he had to go in, and the longer he waits, the less time he has before his next class.

            He sighs and rubs his forehead, and then opens the door as quietly as he can.

            He’s thankful that the door makes absolutely no sound as he turns to close it behind him. He doesn’t want to startle the student while he’s painting. While he’s painting…

            Jesus. Now that Junhui is inside the room and looking at the student and his easel from this new angle, he can actually see what’s on the canvas. It has to be the most amazing picture he’s ever seen. The face of a young girl looks back at him almost as if Junhui were taking a photo of her through a high definition camera lens in the most optimal natural lighting that ever existed. Her strawberry blonde hair is wispy and ethereal around her face; her foreign blue eyes seem to shine as he looks into them. It’s so realistic that Junhui swears she’s about to blink. Junhui can’t wait to see what the painting based off this photograph will look like—maybe a mixed media sort of thing.

            He says, “That’s pretty great.”

            The art student jumps just before his brush touches canvas. As Junhui stands there, wide-eyed, unbelieving of what he just did, the student gasps and leans in close to his easel, inspecting it. He sighs and clicks his tongue as he sets his brush down and says, “You’re lucky this little girl has freckles or else I’d either be strangling you or sobbing. Or both.”

            Junhui blinks fast. “I—I’m sorry.”

            The student turns around, and Junhui finally gets a real look at his whole face. Smooth skin, large features but an overall daintiness, eyes that are naturally huge behind his black glasses. Junhui thinks he’s both adorable and beautiful. Junhui thinks he’s an actual doll.

            Save for the _I could kill you_ look behind the calm on his face and the way his lips are curving up on one side.

            “I am so sorry,” Junhui says again. He clears his throat and points at the easel. “Are you painting over the photograph?”

            The student glances at his picture, then looks back at Junhui and smiles gently. It’s pretty on his face. “There is no photograph.”

            Junhui’s brow furrows and he looks back at the easel. “Are you working off one?”

            The student shakes his head, making his hair wiggle. Junhui can see now that his hair isn’t just white, it has a faint lavender tint to it as well. It only makes Junhui like it more. “I have no idea who this girl is,” the student says. “Never seen her before in my life.”

            Junhui just blinks at the easel—at what is apparently just a painting. “That’s—that’s not possible.”

            The student smiles at him, following him with his gaze as Junhui finally walks over from the door to stand next to him and look closely at the canvas. “Hyperrealism is what my professors call it and what I call it on tests. But usually I just call it perfectionism.”

            Junhui shakes his head. “Perfection is an illusion,” he says flatly, staring at the canvas. “Everything is imperfect.” Except maybe this painting, he thinks. He can’t see a single flaw that isn’t one that the girl wouldn’t have in real life. The artwork itself is technically impeccable, not that Junhui knows anything about it.

            “That’s what my nagging conscious tells me,” the student says. “I work very hard in attempt to prove it wrong.”

            Junhui tilts his head. “Right…” He wishes he could touch the little girl’s face. He bets his brain would trick him into thinking it feels like skin too.

            “Do you want to tell me your name?”

            Junhui blinks, finally taking his eyes off the painting and straightening up, meeting the eyes of the person he came in here to see. “Oh. I’m Wen Junhui.” He bows slightly. “Nice to meet you.”

            “You too, Junhui. Xu Minghao. You’re either a philosopher or a physicist.”

            Junhui watches him smile and adjust his glasses. “Physics. How did you know?”

            Minghao laughs softly. “Well, the way you speak and your truth declaration narrowed it down to those two or mathematics. But your backpack doesn’t have the right angles to be holding a laptop.” Junhui looks over his shoulder at it, wondering how Minghao could possibly guess that he left his laptop at home today. “So math is out since it’s all online,” Minghao says. “And then, well, you told me physics, but I guessed already since the physics building is right there,” he points to the right, “and you walk by from that direction every day.”

            Junhui pauses, looking down at him. “You see me walk by?”

            “Every day.”

            Oh. Junhui always thought Minghao never even knew he was looking at him, much less walking by. _Did_ Minghao know he was looking? They’ve never met eyes until today. He won’t ask. “How can you tell the angles of my backpack? Is that a thing?”

            Minghao smiles fully. Of course he has a pretty smile and perfect teeth. “I’m an art student. I’ve taken entire courses on angles.”

            Junhui nods, tilting his head. “Now _that_ sounds like mathematics.”

            Minghao chuckles again. “Art is half geometry, yes.”

            Junhui looks at the canvas again. “Not your art. Your art is—”

            “Not perfection.”

            Junhui meets his eyes again. He feels sort of bad for saying that now. “I…didn’t mean it that way.”

            Minghao shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not offended. None of what I do will ever be perfect. That’s the other half of art—imperfection.”

            Junhui laughs shortly. “Not beauty or fragility or…?”

            Minghao tilts his head side to side. “Maybe like one percent.”

            They both laugh. Something in Junhui’s chest does a twirl.

            “Now tell me the two halves of physics,” Minghao says.

            Junhui thinks. Good question. “Mmm…well, since I do specifically astrophysics—”

            “Really? Space?”

            Junhui feels pride that Minghao seems interested. “Mhm. I would say…it’s more like thirds. One third numbers, one third late nights and hard espresso and long equations, and one third knowing that what I study will never be something I can tangibly interact with.”

            Minghao smiles softly, gazing up at him. “Not an astronaut, then?”

            Junhui smiles back. “Not since I was four, no.”

            Minghao laughs again. Junhui finds that he likes it more and more each time he hears it.

            “I’m glad I walked in here,” Junhui says.

            Minghao nods. “Me too, Junhui. Maybe we’ll get to talk again and you can tell me more about everything that’s imperfect.”

            Junhui blushes a little and nods. “I think I regret saying that now.”

            “But you did mean it.”

            Junhui gives a conceding nod. “I did.”

            “And I agree.”

            They look at each other for a moment. Junhui rocks back on his heels and says, “Well…I should probably not be late to particle theory.”

            “You already are. Have a lovely day, Junhui.”

            Junhui looks at Minghao’s knowing smile, his half-lidded eyes, and tries to figure out what’s behind Minghao’s gaze. Is it just calm, or is there a hint of smugness back there too? But Junhui also looks at his phone, and he sees he has exactly one minute to get eight minutes across campus. “Fuck. Oh—” He smiles weakly at Minghao. “Sorry. Um—yes, bye. I mean—” He takes a breath and bows his head. “You too, Minghao. Good luck with perfection.”

            Minghao just does his interesting smile and turns back to his painting.

            Junhui leaves the room, heart racing one half because of Minghao, and the other half as he jogs down the campus walkway to class.

 

…

 

It’s automatic when he goes back into the room the next day on Friday, making sure he makes absolutely no noise again. Not that it matters, he knows Minghao knows he’s there—Minghao wouldn’t have seen him walk by, and he can also feel Minghao doing his smile.

            Minghao lets him watch for a few minutes before he says, “I can feel you watching, Wen Junhui, and you won’t startle me this time.”

            Junhui smiles and goes to him again. “Hi, Minghao.”

            “Have you come to make yourself late to class again?”

            The painting looks the same as yesterday, but Junhui knows that Minghao has probably still been working on it for a long time today. Minghao is aware of those tiny details that will bring the painting closer to the ultimate impossible goal of perfection. But Junhui just thinks it looks great now.

            “Actually,” he says, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight.”

            Minghao smiles as he adds a nearly imperceptible dot to the girl’s left cheekbone. “I was wondering why you didn’t ask me yesterday.”

            Junhui feels that twirl in his chest again. “So a yes then?”

            Minghao smiles up at him. “Yes. Where are we meeting?”

            “Um, on campus there’s like a café over by—”

            “The pretty one with the green tones and string lights?”

            “Right.”

            “Perfect,” Minghao says. “Even though perfection is an illusion.”

            Junhui grins. Part of him really does regret saying that to someone as obviously smart as Minghao, but another part of him likes the way Minghao teases him about it. A lot.

            “Six o’clock?”

 

…

 

“Let me guess. You’re going to point out constellations to me.”

            Junhui laughs. “I hadn’t planned on it. Sounds disgustingly cliché. But I can if you’d like.”

            Minghao sighs and shakes his head. “I won’t see them anyway.”

            Junhui finds that he wants to hold Minghao’s hand, and he’s not really sure why. When they were sitting at the café talking, Junhui realized that Minghao, even as an art student, is just as smart as him. He sees the world in a different way than Junhui does, but not in the way Junhui expected. Junhui thought that Minghao would see the world in different colors—brighter, more vivid, with higher detail and full clarity compared to what a regular person like Junhui would see. Junhui thought that Minghao’s artistic background would make him see the world as far more lovely than he does as a physicist, where for him everything is numbers and has order and makes sense because of science. But Junhui found out that it’s sort of the opposite. The word Junhui would use to describe Minghao is cynical. Minghao sees things with too much realism—hyperrealism, if Junhui wants to make a sort of joke about it. Where Junhui sees a glass half full, and where a realist sees a glass that can hold more, Minghao sees things that should probably make Junhui roll his eyes—consumerism and poverty and the fact that, were the glass not holding anything, it would only be a glass, and would have no meaning at all.

            But he’s a beautiful cynic, if Junhui even knows what he means by that. The way Minghao dislikes things, sees a problem in everything, intrigues Junhui, and makes him feel like maybe Minghao is actually _smarter_ than he is, at least about things in the world.

            But as they walk around campus after having finished their coffee, he still doesn’t know why that makes him want to hold Minghao’s hand. Maybe it’s just Minghao.

            “Tell me about art?” Junhui suggests.

            Minghao hums and shakes his head again. “It won’t work on you.”

            Junhui laughs softly, looking over at him. He likes Minghao’s profile. Or his portrait. Or his anything. “What do you mean?”

            “You’re very much a realist. An optimistic one, but a realist. And since art is basically a bunch of pointless shit, you’ll find no interest or truth in it.”

            If that isn’t the purest example of what Junhui was just thinking. “Wow,” he says. “Depressing. But true. My mom took me to an art museum once in my life and while I was fairly young I do remember being bored out of my mind.” He sees Minghao’s lips curve up on the side again. “Not to insult you,” he says. “I like your art. Your art looks like the world.”

            “The world,” Minghao repeats, then chuckles. “I sort of hate everything. That’s why I’m an artist. The world doesn’t meet my expectations, so I make my own things that do.”

            Junhui really doesn’t know why he finds Minghao’s hatred of all things so endearing.

            “Unless, I suppose, that expectation is perfection,” Minghao adds.

            Junhui groans. “I really need to watch what comes out of my mouth.”

            Minghao grins and looks at him briefly. “You are the one who said it.”

            Junhui nods. “I know I know. Most people don’t take it to heart.”

            Minghao sighs deeply, calmly, with that same unknown smile on his lips. He looks off into the dark and says, “Wen Junhui, you’ll find that you and I are not most people.”

            God, the way Minghao speaks. The way he walks so easily, the way he runs his fingers through his hair, the way his confidence shows on his face, the way his jawline is cut every time they walk under a streetlamp, the way he sipped his coffee with his eyes up so that if someone were to look at him he could still tell them to fuck off with his gaze. And of course that smile—that non-Duchenne, barely there, knowing smile that he has most of the time. For some reason, Junhui finds him incredibly sexy.

            Junhui doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, and they walk in silence for a while.

            They’re approaching the eastern, residential edge of campus when Junhui thinks of something to say. “You know, I like the way you dress, Minghao. I’d be afraid to get paint on my clothes if I were you.”

            Junhui knows that a typical person would look down at themselves as if they didn’t know what they were wearing and say, _Oh—thank you!_ But not Minghao. Minghao just says, “Clothes are sort of art, too. Fashion or style.”

            “Two things I have no sense of,” Junhui says.

            Minghao laughs. Junhui is proud that he can make someone like Minghao laugh. “Well, maybe we’ll take you shopping one day,” Minghao says. “You’d look great in stripes.”

            Junhui hasn’t blushed in a long time, and he tells himself that he isn’t about to start now. “What’s your favorite spot on campus?”

            Minghao looks over at him, lifting an eyebrow. “Where do you think?

            Junhui’s mouth opens, and then he laughs at himself. “Oh yeah. Right.”

            Minghao gives Junhui a soft smile, but a real smile. Junhui wonders if Minghao gives people real smiles often. “What about you?” Minghao asks.

            “Mmm…have you ever been way on the south side of campus?”

            “Cardinal directions aren’t my strong suit.”

            “Oh. Um…” Junhui thinks for a second. “By the business school.”

            Minghao nods, then shakes his head. “No. I haven’t. My curating class is next semester.”

            Junhui raises his eyebrows. “Oh, that’s cool though. Do you want to be one?”

            Minghao shrugs. “I’d rather just make art, but I’m also not delusional about having a job.”

            Junhui nods. “Makes sense. But anyway, down on the south side there’s a small spot with like a little pond and a walkway around it and benches. I like when the cherry blossoms are in bloom because the way they fall on the water is just really beautiful.”

            Minghao smiles again. “That’s pretty of you to think. I thought you were going to say the observatory.”

            Junhui clicks his tongue. “How cliché of you.”

            Minghao laughs and nudges him. It surprises Junhui, and he looks down at his arm where Minghao’s touched him. He realizes that it’s the first time they’ve touched each other. It makes him feel something.

            He clears his throat. “No, I like the observatory, but sometimes I’ve had enough of space for one day. Plus I go there all the time which kind of ruins it for favorite spot.”

            “I disagree,” Minghao says.

            Junhui smiles over at him. They’re passing the wall of a long building that reminds Junhui of the art building he always sees Minghao in, except windowless. “True. You’re in that room every single day aren’t you.”

            “You would know,” Minghao says. “Watching me like some stalker and all.”

            Junhui gives him wide eyes. “You watched me too!”

            Minghao chuckles and nods. “I’ll admit to that. How could I keep my eyes off such a handsome face?”

            Oh. Now Junhui is _really_ feeling something. He looks at Minghao, and he stops walking. Minghao stops too, turning to him. “Minghao, I hope you understand what I’m asking when I ask what kind of person you are.”

            Minghao looks calmly into his eyes, the smile on the corners of his lips. “If I understand correctly, the kind you’re hoping I am.”

            Junhui pushes Minghao up against the wall and goes straight for his neck. Minghao tilts his chin up, closing his eyes, gripping onto Junhui’s hair. He lets Junhui kiss him for a while and then breathes out, “My apartment is one block down the street.”

            Junhui smiles into his neck. “Are you inviting me into your bed, Xu Minghao?” And then he gasps in a breath of night air and his body twitches in surprise when Minghao palms him roughly through his jeans.

            “Bed, desk, counter, floor. I don’t have a preference.”

            Junhui leans back, staring into Minghao’s face. His half lidded eyes, dark with soft liner, and that stupid smile that Junhui can’t figure out do _not_ help the feeling between Junhui’s legs. He says, nearly a whisper, “Jesus.”

            Minghao’s smile turns impossibly more sexy, and he squeezes Junhui again before taking his hand instead and saying, “And no roommates. Follow me, Jun.”

 

…

 

Minghao fumbles the lock on his apartment door closed when his back hits it. Junhui’s mouth is on his in an instant, and Minghao holds tight to Junhui’s shirt as he kisses him back heavily. Their lips break apart with a sloppy sound and Junhui moves to his jaw and his neck again, sucking and biting this time.

            Minghao lets his head fall back against the door. “God, this is fast.”

            Junhui puts a wet kiss on his pulse and says, “This, now?”

            “All of it,” Minghao breathes. He takes off his glasses and tosses them onto his desk. “I fucking love it.”

            And then Junhui finds himself being spun around until his back is hitting the door, and Minghao is on his neck. He breathes heavily and says, “I don’t know if I should be surprised or if I should have expected this the whole time.”

            Now Minghao smiles. He says, “You’ll learn about me, Wen Junhui.” And then Junhui watches as he drops to his knees.

            Junhui’s eyes widen a little looking down at him. “Minghao.”

            Minghao gazes up at him through his lashes, the smile on his lips. And now, Junhui thinks, he’s starting to understand what it is—it’s not so much a smile, but a smirk. Maybe Minghao is a little different than Junhui thought he was. But then, what did he even think? Can Minghao even be defined?

            Junhui swallows hard looking at that smirk and watching Minghao quickly undo his belt.

            “I haven’t blown anyone in so long,” Minghao says. “Fuck, I can’t wait.”

            Junhui is sort of stunned. Even though Minghao is the cynical, sexy person Junhui already knows he is, he still didn’t think it would be this intense so fast. But Junhui can’t exactly disagree with what Minghao said earlier—he likes it _a lot_. He’s frozen in place by Minghao once again. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

            Minghao doesn’t even bother shoving Junhui’s pants down. He tugs down the front of Junhui’s underwear and grabs his cock, pulling it out and immediately taking most of it into his mouth.

            Junhui’s jaw drops open and his hands press back into the door behind him. “ _Oh_ —fuck. Minghao—” He groans and his eyes squeeze shut as Minghao sucks hard, bobbing his head. “Oh my god. How do you…”

            Minghao licks a stripe up his length, then takes him back in, humming.

            If Minghao’s full lips aren’t one of the best things Junhui has seen in his life, he’s not sure what is. Why is it that looking down at Minghao now, it’s almost as if he can still see that little smirk tugging at the corners of Minghao’s reddening lips?

            His stomach twists when Minghao does something with his tongue to the head of his cock, and Junhui thinks that fast is good, but he doesn’t want this thing with Minghao to end so quickly. He manages to gasp out, “Wait. Wait, Minghao, I want—”

            Minghao pulls off of him and looks up with just that smirk on his lips. “Are you saying you’d like to fuck me, Wen Junhui?”

            Junhui finds he’s having a hard time looking away from Minghao’s incredible mouth. Minghao really does have large features—pouty lips made puffier by his actions, big shiny eyes half hidden by made-up lids and lashes, even his cute round nose. But where Junhui saw a doll before, he thinks now he sees something more like a siren. He’s starting to wonder if Minghao might really have the power to kill him.

            He breathes out, “Absolutely.”

            Minghao’s smirk widens, and he stands and grasps the front of Junhui’s shirt, walking backwards and pulling him to the bed. Junhui stumbles after him, still unbelieving of how quickly this is happening. He watches Minghao pull himself up onto his bed. “Strip,” Minghao commands.

            Junhui closes his mouth and swallows, nodding quickly. He pulls his shirt over his head and is glad he did that first because Minghao is taking his clothes off too and now he can watch him. Junhui kicks his shoes off, fumbles with his pants, and he almost falls over getting his first leg out when Minghao, kneeling on the bed, pulls down his jeans and Junhui sees no underwear. He bets that if he asked Minghao why he doesn’t wear any, Minghao would tell him that he doesn’t believe in underwear, it’s a waste of material that could be put to better use in third-world countries struggling to keep warm in the winter. That, or maybe Minghao was just expecting this the entire night.

            Maybe those suspicions are true, Junhui thinks when Minghao reaches to a bedside drawer—putting his body on display for Junhui, gaping at him from behind—and pulls out a condom and lube, coming back and kneeling in front of him.

            The words _Do you do this often?_ threaten to spill from Junhui’s lungs, but he tells himself to shut up. Instead, he stammers, “Oh, are—should—what do—” and can’t seem to form any full sentence.

            Minghao just chuckles and shakes his head at him. “You’re cute, Junhui. Be a little less cute when you fuck me, okay? Here.”

            He tosses the condom at him and Junhui just barely catches it. “Yeah,” Junhui says, and blinks at Minghao watching him before clearing his throat and tearing open the foil. He has the condom halfway rolled on when Minghao clicks open the bottle of lube and pours some over his fingers.

            Junhui can feel his Adam’s apple moving when he gulps.

            Minghao pauses with his hand between his legs, tilts his head, smiles, and says, “Maybe I should turn around, then?”

            Junhui looks at him, at his hand and his legs and all of him. “Uh.”

            “Tell me to turn around, Junhui.”

            Junhui swallows again. “Turn around.”

            “Why?”

            God, this is so much. Junhui has never done anything like this before. It’s not his first time, but it’s his first time with anything like Minghao. He licks his lips and says, “So I can see you when…when you…”

            Minghao smiles genuinely, and Junhui can see that it’s slightly lopsided, bigger on one side than the other, and his eyebrows go up in the middle, and his eyes actually sparkle. Junhui feels his heart do that twirl again. “I could kiss you,” Minghao says. “Come here.” He waves out his free hand and Junhui goes to him, meeting him in the kiss.

            He really doesn’t know how he could have possibly ended up here, why Minghao thinks he’s worthy of this bed, but he knows that he couldn’t be more happy that he finally got up the courage to walk into that empty classroom to talk to the gorgeous stranger on the other side of the window. The only regret he has is that he didn’t do it sooner.

            He kisses Minghao deeply because that’s how Minghao kisses him, his tongue invasive but so soft, tasting of bitter coffee guised in sweet caramel. Junhui thinks that fits Minghao perfectly.

            And then their kiss breaks because Minghao’s mouth opens in a breathy moan, his eyes fluttering shut. Junhui can hardly stand it, so close to him. He leans away and sees Minghao’s arm wrapped behind himself, fingers sunken into his own body. “It’s been so long,” Minghao breathes. “God, I need you inside me.”

            “Mingha— _ah_.” Minghao’s other hand wraps around Junhui’s cock, pumping gently.

            “I’m going to turn around and you’re going to fuck me, right?” Minghao says.

            Junhui can only nod. “Yes. Yes, Minghao.”

            “Good.” He kisses Junhui once and then turns himself around, getting down on one hand, stretching himself open for just a little longer before pulling his hand away and looking over his shoulder. “Don’t be gentle.”

            Junhui nods, mouth stuck open slightly in awe at Minghao’s attitude and confidence. He gets up on the bed and kneels behind Minghao, taking hold of his hips. He lines up and starts to push in slowly.

            Minghao rocks back and finishes the job for him. They both let out a soft sound, and Minghao says, “You’ll have to do a little more than that.”

            Junhui bites down on his lip and pulls back, then thrusts back in at once, pulling Minghao to his hips.

            Minghao responds a little louder with a short moan. “Good, Jun. Again.”

            So Junhui does, setting a pace for them. He doesn’t know why he expected Minghao to be quiet—maybe his typical soft spoken nature and all those pretty sad words he says. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. While Minghao’s vocals aren’t quite loud yet, they are constant—moans, gasps, that simple _ah_ over and over, all mixed in with a consistent trickle of profanities.

            “ _Ah_ —fuck—Jun—” His head hangs between his sharp shoulderblades. “Jun…”

            Junhui’s breathing gets rougher quickly, and it’s been a long time for him too because the heat is already coiling in his belly after a few minutes. It really doesn’t help when Minghao tells him, “More.”

            Junhui swallows down a dry throat. “Are you sure?”

            “Harder, Junhui. I’m not going to break.”

            Junhui doesn’t mean to when he says, “But I will.” He pushes harder anyway.

            Minghao does a laugh that turns into a moan. “Fuck, you’re adorable. Harder.”

            Junhui doesn’t know if he can. “Minghao, I—”

            “Push me into the fucking mattress, Junhui, _harder_.”

            Junhui groans and grips tight onto Minghao’s hips and pushes as deeply as he can go.

            Minghao cries out and drops to his elbows, tilting his ass upward, and Junhui brings one knee out from underneath himself, putting his foot down as a brace and leaning into it. Minghao’s moans become lewd high-pitched noises, half of them ringing out, half of them muffled into the sheets as Minghao fails to keep his upper body still, shoulder muscles moving under his skin, hands fisted into the comforter. Junhui’s eyes are transfixed on his hair, shiny and messy, still so soft-looking even as the back of Minghao’s neck glistens with sweat.

            “Fuck, Junhui. More. Just a little more.” Minghao wiggles his hips as if to help him out, and maybe it does, because Minghao’s body jolts and clenches around Junhui. Junhui groans again, and Minghao draws in a loud gasp before climaxing, burying his face in the sheets as he comes, moaning so loudly it almost seems like a sob.

            Junhui holds his waist, pushing him through it. Minghao pushes back onto him a few times, his come painting the sheets in what Junhui would probably think is a very artistic manner. And when Minghao is done, he pulls off of Junhui, turning around.

            Junhui gapes for a moment before Minghao comes close to wrap his hand around him again. Junhui chokes on a breath, and Minghao says, “You really have such a handsome face, Jun. Have you ever seen yourself like this?”

            Junhui shakes his head fast.

            Minghao smirks at him again. He takes a moment to pull the condom off of Junhui’s length, dropping it off the bed. He comes back and kisses Junhui deeply. “Moan for me,” he demands, doing something with his palm that has Junhui bucking into his grip before falling forward, forehead coming to rest on Minghao’s shoulder. He moans like Minghao wanted, and he shakes when he comes into Minghao’s hand.

            Minghao strokes him until Junhui has to push his hand away. He leans away from Minghao’s shoulder and looks into his eyes, breathing heavily.

            Minghao smiles and says quietly, “Oh, Junhui.”

            Junhui lets his eyes slip closed and his body fall to the bed. “Minghao…”

            Minghao chuckles and lies down next to him. “So handsome,” he says.

            “What have you done?” Junhui breathes.

            Minghao touches his jawline briefly. “Have we changed you, Wen Junhui?”

            “You did,” Junhui says. “You, Xu Minghao.”

            Minghao only smiles. He finds tissues and cleans his hand before lying back down to look into Junhui’s face.

            Junhui blinks his eyes open. “Promise me you’ll never make a trip into deep space at light speed.”

            Minghao lifts an eyebrow at him, and then he nods. “Ah. Tell me a story about physics.”

            Junhui turns onto his back and situates, looking up at the ceiling. “There are these twins—these travelling twins. Einstein’s metaphorical daughters of relativity. Throw out names.”

            Minghao sighs, then says, “One and Two.”

            Junhui laughs. “Brilliant. Twins One and Two. Twin Two decides to go on a journey through space on a rocket that moves nearly the speed of light, then come back home to Earth. Twin One stays at her house on Earth during Two’s journey. When Two comes back from the…let’s say year-long trip—a certain _distance_ at light speed—her twin is way older than she is. On the light-fast rocket, only the one year has passed. But on Earth, fifteen years has gone by. Twin One, along with everyone else on Earth, has aged by fifteen years while Two has only aged by one. So—”

            “This only makes some sense.”

            Junhui laughs and looks over at Minghao’s furrowed brow. “I promise it makes sense. I’m only bad at explaining it. See—” He sits up cross-legged facing Minghao, who gazes up at him speaking wildly with his hands. “Particles…they have these inner clocks, okay? Every particle has its own clock. I have trouble understanding it myself, but just remember this—moving clocks run slower. Okay?”

            Minghao blinks. “Okay.”

            “The inner clock—call it…life time, okay? Not lifetime but life, time. The life time of the moving particle advances slower than that of a particle at rest.”

            Minghao nods. “And this is real.”

            Junhui grins. “Very. Like I said—Einstein. Do you get it?”

            Minghao sighs again, looking upward. “You’re saying you don’t want me to go off into space while you grow old here on Earth without me.”

            Junhui puts his hands in his lap. He looks into Minghao’s eyes and nods. “Right.”

            Minghao tilts his head slightly. “The sex must have been really good.”

            Junhui blushes, smiling, and lies back down next to him. “I guess I like you.”

            They’re both silent for a while. Finally, Minghao says, “I drew you.”

            Junhui looks sideways at him. “Really?”

            “Yeah. A while ago. Want to see?”

            “Of course.”

            Minghao gets up and goes to his desk, pulling the drawer open. He takes out a file folder and leafs through loose pages of sketch paper. He pulls one out and comes back to the bed. Junhui sits up in front of him again, and he takes the paper when Minghao hands it to him.

            His mouth opens again, and he shakes his head slowly. “Minghao…how did…”

            It’s him—it’s better than him. It’s only a headshot, but Junhui can actually _see_ the sunlight hitting his cheekbones, can see each detailed crinkle of his eyes as he squints in the light, each delicate strand of his hair blowing across his forehead in the wind. His lips are the most finely detailed part of the drawing, shadowed and highlighted to create gentle curves, the swoop of his cupid’s bow. It looks like the exact angle from which Minghao might see him walking by the empty classroom of the art building by the physics hall.

            Junhui shakes his head again. “What are you?”

            Minghao smiles halfway. “I promise I won’t go into deep space at light speed.”

            Junhui stares at him, holding the paper weakly in his hands. Minghao smiles and takes it back from him, putting it back in its folder and into the desk.

            When he comes back, he says, “That’s my story about art.”

            Junhui says, “Let’s go again.”

            Minghao chuckles. “I think you should take me on another date first.”

            Junhui chews his lower lip. “All right. Can we make out?”

            Minghao gives him another sincere, soft smile. He pushes Junhui down and climbs over him. Junhui places his hands on his waist. “A brilliant physicist of a man is still only a man,” Minghao says.

            Junhui kisses him.

 

…

 

Minghao’s hands grip onto the headboard while Junhui’s dig into his upper thighs. Junhui wanted him to go faster but Minghao won’t. He rolls his hips slowly, lifting and lowering himself at an agonizing pace for Junhui. Minghao has lost count of how many times he’s had to lean forward and stifle Junhui’s moans with his mouth. Now Junhui is approaching his edge, teeth clenched and jaw sharp, brow knitted and eyes squeezed shut, shoulders tense against the headboard he’s sitting up on, fingers pressing marks into the meat of Minghao’s thighs.

            The smile—the _real_ smile—that’s been on Minghao’s face the whole time is still there as Junhui releases whining breaths from the back of his throat. Minghao asks, “Close, darling?”

            Junhui draws in a deep breath, forcing himself not to moan obscenely and not to push his hips up off the bed because Minghao doesn’t want that. He bites his tongue and nods. “Minghao…”

            “Me too, Jun.”

            “Please just a little faster?”

            Minghao smiles and shakes his head, bringing one palm to Junhui’s chest. “You don’t need it. Why don’t you open your eyes and look at me?”

            “Because then it’ll be over,” Junhui breathes out.

            Minghao’s smile grows, remaining soft. He leans in and presses a kiss to Junhui’s lips, his cheek, his temple, his ear, and he says quietly, “Look at me.”

            Junhui makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat, but he opens his eyes and he looks at his lover.

            Junhui really never thought perfection was attainable, or even something that was real. But now, looking at Minghao, he can’t find an argument for that anymore. There’s not one highlight or shadow of Minghao’s gorgeous body that Junhui thinks is imperfect. From his artist’s purple-white hair to his huge eyes and plush lips on his v-line face to his pretty long neck to his boyish shoulders to his defined arms to the dips of his ribs to his made-to-hold hips to his long thin legs. _Nothing_ is imperfect about Minghao. And the prettiest thing, Junhui thinks, besides Minghao’s endless mind like the universe, is Minghao’s smile—the way his lips form that perfect crescent shape that brightens his whole face, and the way that the smile is there for _him_. Junhui thinks he will very easily and very soon fall in love with that smile.

            He bites down on his lip and says nothing.

            “What are you thinking?” Minghao asks, tilting his head and lifting his hips again.

            Junhui keeps his hands tight on Minghao, sliding his palms up to his dainty waist. “I’m…I’m thinking that you have a hold on me the way stars hold their planets. I can’t escape your gravity, Minghao.”

            Minghao laughs so quietly. “Physicist or poet?”

            Junhui starts to laugh too, but then the heat in his lower belly bursts and he can’t speak. His breath catches in his throat and his back curls off the headboard, his mouth opening. Minghao rides him through it, holding the headboard with one hand and Junhui with the other, placing a kiss on the crown of Junhui’s head as Junhui’s arms wrap around his back and he pulls himself close, burying his face in Minghao’s body. At the end of his climax, Junhui’s thighs shake under Minghao’s hips, and Minghao feels the tickle of Junhui’s breath on his chest when he lets a few small moans escape his lungs.

            Junhui stays holding Minghao in his arms and eventually looks up at him, chin resting on Minghao’s chest. Minghao kisses his nose and says, “Benefits of free campus testing, hm? I love the warmth of you inside me.”

            Junhui makes a sort of groan and moves all at once until Minghao finds himself on his back with Junhui kneeling over him. “Don’t say things like that,” Junhui breathes.

            Minghao’s smile is too pretty for his words. “But Junhui, I’m full of you.” He giggles as Junhui attacks his neck. And then he gasps when Junhui bites down into his skin at the same time that he wraps his hand around Minghao’s very sensitive arousal. Minghao’s hands go straight to Junhui’s hair. “Jun. Junhui, please.” He lets his eyes close and his chin tilt up while Junhui sucks on his pulse and uses his hand deftly. Minghao swallows dryly, pulls a little on Junhui’s hair, and says, “Kiss me, Jun.”

            Junhui smiles against his skin and goes to his lips, kissing him deeply. But they barely get to let their tongues touch before Minghao’s fingers go tight in Junhui’s hair and his mouth locks open. He releases pretty moans into the air between them. Junhui breathes them in, watching Minghao’s face as closely as he can, watching perfection become even more perfect.

            Eventually, Minghao’s hands leave his hair and slide down his back to hold him loosely. Minghao lies there with his eyes gently shut, catching his breath from the whole thing. Junhui thinks to push back the strands of white hair that have stuck to his forehead, but that would ruin Minghao’s perfection. So instead, Junhui leans to the nightstand and takes a handful of tissues, and he smiles and wraps his arms under Minghao’s body, pulling him up as he sits back cross-legged. Minghao positions in his lap, wrapping his legs around his hips, and leans his forehead against Junhui’s.

            “I think our ratio of dates to sex is far below one,” Minghao whispers while Junhui gently cleans his chest. “But I’m too fucked out to do the math.”

            Junhui grins and kisses him once, tossing the tissues away. “I really like you, Minghao.”

            Minghao kisses him back. “I like you too, Junhui. Imagine if you hadn’t come inside the building and startled me that day.”

            “I’d be just as bored and sad as I was before.”

            “Poor baby,” Minghao says, pouting out his lip. “It’s not like you’re a student at one of the country’s top universities and were admitted into one of its hardest departments or anything like that.”

            Junhui sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah yeah. But still. You make me happy.”

            “Well, it certainly seemed that way a minute ago,” Minghao teases, giving him doe eyes.

            Junhui clicks his tongue. “Hush.” He kisses Minghao again.

            “Really though. What’s our ratio?” Minghao asks, placing light kisses from Junhui’s cheek to his neck.

            Junhui shrugs. “I’ve lost count over…four weeks now?” Minghao hums a yes, sucking gently under Junhui’s jaw. “And besides—I do enough math and work for school. When I see you it’s like you transfer some of your freeness to me.”

            Minghao stops kissing him. He leans back and looks seriously into Junhui’s face. “Hold on. What are you saying?”

            If there’s one thing Junhui has learned over these four weeks it’s that Minghao is not always as sweet as he looks—and Junhui likes that about him. He tries to choose his words carefully. “Um…I’m saying that…”

            “That because I’m an art major and you’re a physics major that you have more schoolwork than me?”

            Junhui shakes his head fast. “No.”

            “That you have more homework than me?”

            “No, I—”

            “I actually do have a lot of work for my major, you know.”

            Junhui pulls him close as Minghao glares at him. “I know, babe. I know. While I’m writing postulates about things that exist in the world, you’re creating new things that don’t exist in the world but really should. You have work just like me, just…different.”

            Minghao hums like he only half believes that’s what Junhui thinks. “Well, my _freeness_ isn’t exactly sitting on the couch watching TV. Notice I don’t even have one. You should appreciate that what actual leisure time I do have I spend letting you fuck me.”

            Junhui wants to say that they don’t just fuck—they go see movies and take pictures of the city at night and take the train to the beach and make out a lot. And also that he’s obviously not the only one benefitting from this mutualistic relationship. But he knows if he said any of that he’d just be digging himself deeper. So he says, “I know, darling. I didn’t mean free time, I meant, like, a free mind.”

            Minghao smiles halfway. “All right. You know I’d strangle you if you meant that I didn’t work as hard as you.”

            Junhui nods, conceding, kissing Minghao’s nose. “Mhm. It was one of the first things you said to me.”

            Minghao’s full smile comes back. “It was, wasn’t it. I do work as hard as you. And it’s a lot too. Like I said—self-proclaimed perfectionist.”

            Junhui shakes his head. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

            Minghao laughs, lifting an eyebrow. “You pity me?”

            “On that, yes. Perfectionism is a performance killer. I used to be sick with it—if I wasn’t getting one hundred percent then I was failing and I was just like,” he waves his hand, “fuck it, who cares. You know?”

            Minghao nods. “I get it.”

            Junhui just shrugs. “So I don’t do that anymore. The universe will live and die just as well if I get an A or a C.”

            Minghao chews his cheek, playing his fingertips along Junhui’s back. “Perfectionism is all I have. There are two kinds of artists—the ones who can slap something on a canvas and they think it’s wonderful and everyone thinks it’s wonderful and really it’s just a good-looking mess. The Pollocks of the world. But then there’s the me’s of the world who have to get every pencil or brush stroke right or else the whole thing is ruined. We don’t have to stay in the lines but the new lines better be exactly what they need to be. You know I spent three straight months on my entry project for this program?”

            “Jesus,” Junhui says, eyebrows raised. “Working every day?”

            “Sometimes for hours.”

            Junhui thinks about how he used to work that hard. How he used to come home from class his last year of high school and study until midnight for exams. Back then he thought it was good for him—being the best and the smartest. But now he’s happier than he was then. Especially now that he’s met Minghao. But he thinks that Minghao’s perfectionism is a lot different than his was. Minghao’s is a determination to be good, while Junhui’s was just a need to be at the top. Junhui finds it so attractive that Minghao has that concentrative ability—striving for perfection for the sake of perfection.

            “Still one of the best portraits I’ve ever done,” Minghao says, breaking his thoughts.

            Junhui blinks up at him. “Who was it?”

            Minghao shrugs. “Some woman I saw walking one day. A stranger.”

            Junhui tilts his head. “Like when you drew me?”

            Minghao smiles a little. “You—or at least your face wasn’t really strange to me then. I watched you walk by every day.”

            “Yeah?” He squeezes Minghao’s hips. “Were you a perfectionist with my picture?”

            Minghao laughs softly, absentmindedly running his fingers through Junhui’s hair at the back. “I wasn’t going to be at first. I told myself, Minghao, this person is just some other student who you’ll never get the chance to talk to, so don’t waste your time on this drawing because you know you have to do it but you don’t _have_ to do it for any good reason so just do it and be done with it.”

            Junhui grins. “You didn’t listen, did you.”

            Minghao sighs, looking upward. “I spent hours at night trying to remember your face, the curves of the center of your lips, just how the wind blew your bangs, just how the sunlight cut your jawline. I tried to get good looks at you but I was so sure you’d catch me.”

            Junhui imagines Minghao at his desk in the dark, lamp lighting the sketchpad in front of him. Minghao brushing his hair back in frustration, trying to see in his head Junhui’s own face. Junhui had no idea. He says, “I wish I had.”

            Minghao just looks down at him. “You do?”

            “Mhm. We could have met sooner maybe.”

            Minghao gazes into his eyes for a while, considering it. Eventually he says, “What made you come talk to me anyway?”

            Junhui smiles almost shyly. “Well…I don’t really know. Same as you drawing me, I suppose. I passed you every day and saw you every day. You sort of fascinated me. You were always sitting in that exact same spot—”

            “It has the best lighting.”

            Junhui laughs softly. “I’m sure. And you were always alone in there just…working. Silently. Even though I was outside I could tell how quiet it was in there. But anyway…you just attracted me. And obviously I think you’re pretty beautiful. I just wanted to know your name and what it was you were always painting or drawing or whatever.”

            Minghao’s smirk shows on his kiss-swollen lips. “You really had no intentions of taking me to bed?”

            Junhui shakes his head with mock seriousness. “Absolutely not. I definitely never thought about your tongue on mine or your mouth full of me or your hands all over my back or the way you would sound or the sight of you sticky and dripping with my—”

            “Such a gentleman!” Minghao says, shoving him.

            But Junhui catches his waist and pulls him close again, laughing quietly. “I’m only teasing. I also thought about lacing my fingers with yours, and how cute your laugh would be, and how it would make me feel to take off your glasses and kiss you softly. So yes, I thought of you. But I didn’t think something like this would happen.”

            Minghao smiles and leans close to Junhui again, their lips brushing. “Something like what?”

            Junhui only kisses him in answer, once, lightly. When he pulls back, he leaves one hand on Minghao’s waist and brings the other to his cheek, letting his eyes roam over Minghao’s face for a moment. He says, quieter than he meant to, “I guess not everything is imperfect.” He kisses Minghao again, deeply, for a long time.

            Minghao pulls away first and says softly, “That’s a big statement. Are you saying that my illusion is imperfection?”

            Junhui shrugs and kisses the corner of his mouth. “It was supposed to be romantic.”

            “Liar. You didn’t plan that line. It came straight from a place you can’t consciously get to. And it was romantic.”

            Junhui pulls Minghao as close as he can get him. “And yes, I am saying that.”

            “Then you’re very sweet and very wrong.”

            Junhui clicks his tongue. “Compliments are so hard for you.”

            Minghao giggles quietly. “One of my many imperfections.”

            Junhui smiles and rolls his eyes, and kisses him again.

            Eventually Minghao leans back in Junhui’s lap, squinting at his face. He starts messing with Junhui’s bangs. “You know, I haven’t worked with a model before, but I think I’m willing to try.”

            Junhui lights up. “Yes please.”

            Minghao lifts an eyebrow. “Who says I meant you?”

            Junhui pauses. “Oh. Right.”

            Minghao laughs, shaking his head. “But obviously I did. Come on, Jun. Who else would I want to just look at for an hour plus?”

            Junhui looks off to the side. “You make me blush.”

            Minghao kisses him quickly and gets up, climbing off the bed. “Good. It’ll be gorgeous on your skin. Now let me get my book.” He points across the room to his desk. “We’ll clear that off—carefully—and you choose how you want to pose, and don’t be weird about it, okay?”

            Junhui chuckles. “Understood.”

            “Thank you. And don’t even think about putting your clothes on.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I finally finished this. I've had this started since before Paradise, you guys. Fun fact: my professor last spring term said in class, "Perfectionism is a performance killer," and this entire story bloomed to life in my head. And funny story: I had deleted this thinking it sucked, with only one scene left to write, and had emptied my trash multiple times since then. Then one day I thought, I should have just finished it. So I opened my trash as a last ditch effort and this was the o n l y thing sitting in there... I'm dead serious. This story was fated to get posted eventually. Junhao lives on.  
> Anyway...it's been a long time coming.  
> And as always, thank you for reading.  
> L


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